


Nevermore

by AvocadoLove



Series: Captain Stark/Iron Steve [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst, Iron Man 2, M/M, Palladium Poisoning, Role Reversal, Steve Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1365322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvocadoLove/pseuds/AvocadoLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Steve Rogers is 90 pounds soaking wet, and still manages to bag Captain Stark. Not that Tony's complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nevermore

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, the next entry in this series really WILL be the main story with plot. Promise. Until then, have some angsty Cap!Tony and Iron!Steve porn. :)

* * *

 

Now

 

* * *

 

"What are you doing here?"

Steve's voice was low. Dangerous. Twenty minutes ago, Tony would have had a thousand answers at the tip of his tongue. He'd been a master of pithy comebacks before the serum, and things had only clicked faster after the procedure. Like a fist-fight or chess game, he could run through the moves of an argument a dozen moves ahead.

That was the reason he'd broken into Steve's private bedroom. Three days ago, Steve had locked himself in his little workshop, set his girlfriend/computer (Tony didn't care what everyone said. Why else would a computer genius make his artificial intelligence sound like a pretty dame?), Jocasta, to lock everyone out.

Normally, the only one who could get Steve to break a workaholic binge was his man secretary. But due to a long story involving last week's poker game and what were truly unfounded (not really) accusations of card-counting, Bucky wasn't talking to Tony.

Clint suggested they wait Steve out -- that Steve was probably inventing a new suit or something. Maybe a red, white, and blue one like Tony had been teasing him to do. That way they'd match -- but Tony always figured baiting a trap was a better solution.

So there was nothing else for it. He broke the lock on Steve's bedroom and let himself in, knowing the computer would alert her master.

Tony hadn't actually been in Steve's room before. As far as he knew, no one had. It was bare of personality, with the exception of some tasteful artwork here and there. The bed was large, but spare. White carpeting (of course), and a desk set off to the side. All in all, the room was about as warm and fuzzy as a museum, which said a lot considering the man's workshop looked like a futuristic version of a spaceship on one of those Star Treks that Clint was always watching.

Tony grinned and waved at the cameras he knew were probably scattered about. If Steve came at him with the suit, at least it would get him out of the workshop. And well. Tony healed fast.

There was a large notebook set perfectly in the middle of the desk -- the only thing on it. Curious, Tony wandered over and flipped up the top page, expecting blueprints or equations or whatever stuck-up genius's did in their spare time.

Instead, he got a pencil drawing of what looked like scene in the park. A young girl, perhaps four years old walking along a pathway with a grandparent, hand-in-hand. It was a little rough around the edges, with no background. The details were the most clear where their hands touched, and the lines captures the girl's skipping gait.

Huh. He never figured Steve for an artist.

Tony flipped the page and found a true-to-life bowl of fruit, the orange and pear halfway colored in. Another page, and there was Bucky, his sleeves of his fancy dress shirt rolled up, eating what looked like Chinese food with chopsticks.

The next page was of Tony himself. It was an action pose -- himself half crouched with the shield up. It was rendered beautifully. There was a smile in the drawing's eyes, though Hell if Tony knew how Steve was able to show it. His face was set and grim -- he didn't look that serious in battle, did he?

Another page: Natasha -- or at least her bottom half, one leg extended in a kick. Then a partial drawing of Thor's hammer. Again, half-filled in.

The next page was again of Tony -- the same pose as before, but the only one fully drawn and colored. Spare blue for the uniform, the bright star in the middle.

Tony was admiring it when Steve came in and caught him red handed. He didn't bother with shame -- he'd lost that a long time ago, before the trenches. Before the serum, too.

"This is mighty fine work," Tony said instead. "Mind if I frame it?"

In answer, Steve reached over and flipped the pages down, closing the sketchbook. "Haven't you heard of privacy?"

"That something in one of your new fancy dictionaries?" Tony turned and took a moment to look Steve up and down. The man was pale, and looked gaunter than usual. Too many hours and not enough natural sunlight was Tony's diagnosis. "You're looking worn down, Steve. What's eating you? Equations not adding up?" he asked, and maybe it was inappropriate. Hell, it _was_ , but he reached out to brush a lock of blond hair out of Steve's face. He wore it boyishly long, almost covering his ears, and when it got messy it did things to Tony's insides.

He expected Steve to slap his hand away. Iron Man wasn't exactly a touchy-feely person. Huge surprise. But Steve closed his eyes, and swallowed. "Something like that."

"I'd be glad to help. Math class was seven decades back, but I don't think the numbers changed." It was okay if Tony joked about it. Or maybe it would be. Someday.

Steve closed his eyes and for an alarming second, he looked incredibly vulnerable. Tony's heart lurched. Something was wrong.

"Not with the math, but..." Steve opened his eyes... and _there_ he was. There was that banked fire Tony was used to seeing. The place where the Iron Man had been born.

"Tony," Steve paused, and leaned forward and up. And Tony knew what was coming, but that didn't mean he believed it yet. "Just don't hit me."

Hitting him was the last thing on his mind. Steve's hand curled in Tony's shirt, dragging him down, and Tony came along willingly.

The kiss was dry, tentative for maybe the space of two seconds while Steve tested the waters and Tony thought, _God, finally_.

He'd wanted this since -- he wasn't sure. Maybe since after their first big fight, when they used to do that a lot. When Tony was so fresh from the ice he wondered if he was actually awake at all, or if the future was some vivid hallucination _and he knew he shouldn't have taken Rhodey up on an absinthe binge to see what it'd do_. And with everyone either treating him like an oddity or some kind of hero, here came this stubborn genius who practically had to run around in the shower to get wet, yet built fantastical machines and told Tony off whenever he thought he was wrong. Which was _all the time_.

Tony had wanted Steve even before they were friends. After they'd gotten to know each other, the want had burned through him, clean like fire. Too hot to touch, because the rules were different in this day and age. You couldn't just pull a fella aside and whisper dirty into his ear -- or maybe you could, but Steve wasn't that kind of fella, and Tony hadn't known how to even start with him.

So Tony kissed back, tongue peeping out to trail at the seam of Steve's lips. Encouraging him to open up, because this... this was long overdue.

Steve gasped in a breath that was half laugh and then _really_ kissed him.

Steve kissed how he fought, with a focused intensity that sizzled down Tony’s nerves. So Tony did what he’d been wanting to do for months now, and slid a hand down to cup Steve’s tight ass. The man's tailor knew what to do with an expensive pair of slacks, and Tony had appreciated it every time Steve entered the room. He lifted Steve up, just a little, just to show him his strength. Half show-off, half warning.

Steve gave a soft grunt in approval, but there was clearly more on his mind than a little necking. His nimble fingers plucked, then tore at the buttons on Tony’s shirt.

“Watch the goods,” Tony said between breaths as one button flew off.

Steve gave him a _look_ and another button went flying.  “You bought these from Wal-Mart.”

“Why not? They’re practically the only place ‘round nowadays that makes products in the good ol’ USA, rich boy.” Tony replied smugly. He’d never say it, but he sort of liked the flannel shirts he could buy in bulk there. Even if Clint said it made him look like the Brawny Paper Towel man.

“You're ridiculous,” Steve said. "You wear this crap at charity functions just to give my PA an aneurism."

"That man can wail," Tony agreed.

They’d been walking backwards since this started, more or less heading to Steve’s bed. Steve shoved, and Tony let himself move back one final step, sitting down on the mattress. Steve stood above him, a somewhat wistful smile playing at the planes of his face.

Tony’s heart beat hard -- he’d do a lot to see that expression directed at him more often.

He didn’t smile a lot, did Steve. Sometimes Tony wondered what it would have been like if he had unfrozen a little earlier, before Afghanistan, but he suspected a man like Steve was just too focused to stand for much humor.

So when Steve looked him up and down and told him to take off his shirt, Tony was more than willing to obey. Nice not to be the one giving orders, for once. He decided to test his luck and lost his pants, too.

“Uncut,” Steve murmured, with an intense look like he was committing Tony’s body to memory. Tony tried not to preen a little as he leaned back on his elbows, showing off.

“Like what you see?" he asked, reaching down to stroke. "Am I gonna be in a dirty sketchbook yours--” He broke off as Steve went gracelessly to his knees.

Steve's smile was back, but there was a wicked gleam to it. And with a fringe of blond hair falling into his eyes, he looked unexpectedly sultry. “You think I keep my really good sketchbooks where anyone can find it? Though, though I think I got my proportions wrong.” He touched Tony almost reverently, his hand sliding down the shaft and back up to thumb around his foreskin.

Tony lifted his hips a little to chase his touch. “Shellhead,” he murmured fondly, “I’m hurt. The government spared no expense. But this, they didn’t change.”

Steve laughed. “Right.” Then he licked his lips and leaned forward to give a brief almost-kiss to Tony’s cock, then a lick before he took him in his mouth.

All the words on the tip of Tony's tongue died away. His hand fell from Steve’s shoulder, rose to the back of Steve's neck, then dropped again so he could bunch at the silken sheets instead. He wanted to touch Steve, wanted to push him down, or just hold him... or anything. Everything.

But here’s the thing that about the body Dr. Eskine gave him. The one thing Tony truly hated: Sometimes he didn’t know his own strength, and he didn’t -- couldn't -- trust himself when Steve’s tongue curled around him, when all he could feel was the wet heat of Steve’s mouth.

Not when things broke all the time in Tony's hands -- fragile wine glasses, those little expensive computers that were as thin as a piece of paper, supervillain bones. And that was when he had a clear head.

Tony raised and lowered his hand again, wanting to touch, but then bit down on his knuckle instead. Steve’s eyes met his own and Tony thought he saw a flicker of understanding there.

Then Steve’s clever fingers curled around the base of Tony's cock, where his lips couldn't reach. His other hand grabbed Tony’s wrist, hard. A bright counterpoint that turned him on. Of course Tony could break the grip if he wanted to. He just didn't want to.

“Steve, Steve -- you’re such a doll,” Tony heard himself babbling. Maybe he didn't trust himself to touch the other man, but his mouth never stopped. “Down a little further--there you are. Oh God, you’re beautiful. Brilliant. I take back everything I said--Okay, almost everything, but if you do that thing with your tongue again--” Steve did and Tony broke off with a grunt that turned into a soft groan. Felt himself leak into Steve’s mouth.

The way Steve closed his eyes and lapped at the taste of him made Tony thank God and Eskine for his eidetic memory.

“Steve, you keep doing that and... Oh hell, I’m close,” And maybe that was a little embarrassing for such a short amount of time, but it had been seventy-odd years. He was out of practice.

Steve pulled off, his lips red and swollen. “Refractory period?”

It took Tony an endless second to parse what he meant. Hello. No one home today. “Peak of human stamina,” he replied with his best leer.

“Good.” Steve punctuated that with an obscene swipe of his tongue, and went down on Tony without hesitation. His cheeks hollowing.

Orgasm hit Tony hard. He swore a blue streak. And damn if Steve didn’t swallow every bit, pulling back at the end to delicately wipe a drop or two from the corner of his mouth. Then he stood and leaned over to kiss Tony, still clothed, but looking as debouched as Tony felt.

Gripping Steve by the hips, Tony rolled him over and pressed tight against Steve’s straining erection. Steve made a noise and jerked his hips upward, almost as if he was as turned on about blowing Tony as Tony had been, and wasn’t that a sight?

Tony was sure to drag his leg down Steve's length, making it slow. Controlled, like he didn't mind drawing this out for hours. “How do you want it?”

“Aren’t you the man with the plan?” Steve panted, his voice adorably rough.

Tony bit gently at a tendon standing out of Steve's neck, then sucked the mark. Steve twitched, then visibly flinched when Tony moved down to nibble at his collarbone.

He paused. “Okay there, slugger?”

“Fine.” He wriggled out under Tony and sat up. Then, neatly, Steve reached one elegant hand up to undo the top buttons of his shirt. Then he shrugged it off.

Tony sucked in a surprised breath. There was a flesh-colored cap of some sort embedded in Steve's chest, right where the glowing red light came from the Iron Man suit. He knew about the arc reactor, but thought it was internal and Iron Man's light was for effect.

Steve didn’t quite look Tony in the eye. “If I don’t cover it, it’ll glow right through my shirts.”

He knew better than to reach up to touch it, though part of him wanted to. “Does it hurt?”

Steve shook his head again, but still didn’t look at Tony. “No, but, um, I lost a little lung function so don’t press down there.”

He wouldn’t have done so anyway. He easily outweighed Steve by a hundred pounds of muscle. “Good to know,” Tony said and switched them around, easily maneuvering Steve on the big bed, until he was under and Steve was spread wide, straddling Tony’s ribs.

Steve was almost painfully thin, and ropey where muscles should be. But Tony always thought he was beautiful in his intensity. He was a little guy, even moreso than Tony had once been, but there was pure iron running through his veins. Tony ran his hand up the ladder of Steve's ribs, just to watch Steve squirm a little. “I like this view better,” he said, drinking his fill.

Who would have figured the Iron Man would blush so nicely?

"Don't believe me?" Tony asked as Steve ducked his head.

"There's--ah--not much of a view," Steve replied, stuttering when Tony ran a thumb up the inseam of his pants and cupped his cock.

"Don't say that," Tony ordered. When Steve glanced at him in surprise he lifted his hips, letting Steve feel how hard he was. How much he wanted him. "You're beautiful."

"That's the post-orgasm talking."

"Seems to me there's not enough of those going around," Tony said with another lewd roll to his hips.

That got a smirk out of Steve. He rose for a moment to unzip his slacks and reach over to the nightstand.

Tony saw with a little regret that his rough handling while they'd kissed had left reddened marks on Steve’s skin, right under his ass. It matched the love bite on his neck. They’d no doubt bruise tomorrow, but Steve didn’t limp as he came back to the bed. Tony pulled him down into a kiss, a silent apology he wasn’t sure Steve heard.

“You know what to do with this?” Steve asked, pushing a fancy little tube into Tony's hands.

“We had sex in the ‘40’s.” He grinned. “Lots of it. There was a war on, after all.” Though this squirt stuff was slicker than Vaseline.

Tony sat up, pulling Steve' back into his lap. He took his time opening Steve up, proving to himself that he could be gentle, memorizing every twitch and breath hitch. Kept at him, slow and steady until Steve buried his forehead against Tony's neck and moaned loud when Tony added a third finger, fucking himself in a slow rhythm.

"Tony. Tony... Please, now." Steve grasped blindly behind him, holding Tony's cock and pushing him in and up and _in_.

It was everything he could do to hold still and let Steve adjust. Until Steve's eyelids fluttered back open and he nodded.

Tony rolled his hips smoothly upward. Steve was so tight. So alive. Forged with fire and iron through and through.

“Tony,” Steve murmured over and over again as if he were a personal prayer. “Tony.”

He drew Steve down, the kiss slick and hot between them.

Steve clenched up deliciously when he came, spilling hot over Tony’s stomach, his eyes half shut and flushed all over. It was more than enough for Tony to let himself go for a second time.

He took care of the cleanup while Steve laid on his back and sucked in air. His breaths had taken on that funny rasp it sometimes got during a hard battle, and it did Tony’s ego a little good to know he’d worn Steve out. Though he couldn't help but at the cover over the arc reactor. There was a dark spider-webbing of veins coming up from the edges. Much worse was the reddening mark on Steve's hip in the perfect shape of Tony's hand. Son of a gun. He hadn't remembered grabbing him there. And this was only the damage he could see on the _outside_.

“I bruise easily,” Steve said, though how he could tell Tony was looking at him with an arm flung over his eyes, Tony couldn’t say.

He forced his voice to be casual. “Sure."

"I'm fine." And there was definitely an edge to Steve's voice now. He lifted his arm from his eyes to glare at Tony.

"Tell me that in the morning, if you can walk."

"In the morning I'm topping you," Steve snipped.

Then they both looked at each other, a bit taken aback. Until that moment Tony wasn't certain there would be an 'again'. But... 'again' sounded like a fine idea.

"Sure," Tony repeated, calmer, and took that as an invite to lay back, beside Steve. He got no complaints.

At least Steve didn't seem to be in pain right now, and maybe in the morning he'd feed Steve up a little, too, before the man disappeared back into his workshop.

Steve muttered something even Tony couldn't catch. His breathing had evened out, though, and slowed to become regular.

Tony waited until he was certain Steve was asleep to pull him close.

 

* * *

 

 

Earlier

 

* * *

 

 

Nearly 48 straight hours of calculations, and it had all come down to this. Steve found himself holding his breath as he keyed in the final perimeters on atomic mass and pressed enter.

The results flashed up in quick order. Just like the death blow it was.

No element replacement for palladium.

His heart under the arc reactor gave a twinge, but that was psychosomatic. His heart was fine. The electric magnet keeping the shrapnel away was doing it's job. It was the palladium core powering the device which was slowly killing him.

His throat dry, he brought up new calculations. Based on his current blood toxicity levels, he had maybe six months if he didn't use the suit at all. If he took it easy. If... if... if...

The screen blurred in front of him. Steve leaned down and dragged in a few deep breaths. Colonel Carter's blank eyes stared accusingly at him from the back of his thoughts.

"Sir?" Jocasta murmured. "Scans indicate your blood pressure is reaching unacceptable thresholds. You are severely stressed."

He gave a dry laugh, opening his eyes. "I'm dying, Jocasta. Stress is the least of my problems."

But his AI had given him the distraction he needed. He swiped the info away from the screen. "Bring up my father's old notes -- I remember him talking about treating heavy metal poisoning a few times." Doctor Joseph Rogers had been one of the finest physicians of his time -- the reason he'd been brought in to study Captain America back in the day. Steve may not be able to reverse the poisoning, but he could perhaps delay the worst of it or mask the symptoms.

He'd have to plan the future for Rogers Incorporated, too. Update his will.

The files with his father's neat handwriting came up. Steve's fingers hovered over the first of them. He was tired, suddenly, of the wet sciences. Of considering his own failing body like an equation he could solve. He had his answer now: it was unsolvable.

Machines were what he knew, what he loved. And right now... now he had to do what he loved or he was going to crack apart.

"Actually," he said, swiping the notes away. "Bring up the blueprints on Project Rescue."

Jocasta obediently did. "Mr. Barnes will be pleased."

His smile was a strained thing. Bucky was absolutely going to flip his shit -- he'd been hinting/begging Steve for a suit of his own since forever. And, "The Avengers will still need aerial support, after--" After Steve was gone. He couldn't say it. "They'll need the support," he repeated quietly. "But we're going to have to strip the tech down to the basics so Shield's goons can do the upkeep and maintenance."

Steve expanded the schematics for the repulser-boosters in the holographic display with one hand, the other bringing up his own notes for Iron Man mark IV. He'd give Bucky the best of both worlds -- simplicity and power in one elegant design.

But even as he worked, his mind went other places. Rogers Incorporated would have to be dissolved on his death -- there would be no more weapons in his name ever again -- the advances in green energy worked into freeware files and distributed.

Planning had always soothed Steve's nerves, but his fingers trembled as he flicked through the holograms, and he couldn't stop blinking dry eyes. Must be a side effect of the palladium poisoning.

"Sir." Maybe it was his imagination because he had programmed Jocasta to learn, not to be empathetic. "Have you considered how you are going to tell your team?"

"I spill the beans, Stark will bench me," he said shortly. Steve was no damsel in distress, but Tony Stark was chivalrous in a blunt, old-timey way. He hovered and cracked strained jokes and _meddled_ every time someone got injured, until they were back on their feet again.

Bucky remarked once it was because Tony had lost everyone he loved, and Steve -- well. He understood loss. Knew how it burned.

He would tell them. Later, when he couldn't keep going, and not a moment before.

It almost hit him, then. A banked wave of fear and frustration -- a little voice babbling inside his thoughts, _I'm going to die. This is it, this is the end, and there was so much I wanted to do, so much..._

Steve swallowed and forced himself to push it away. Not to let that wave build into a tsunami, because he couldn't afford the fear and the self pity. Not while there was so much to be done.

He pushed the fear down and lost himself in his work.

"Sir," Jocasta said a few hours later. "There is a security breach in your private quarters."

"What?" He blinked, and maybe it was a sign of exhaustion but it took him a few moments longer than usual to pull up the live feed.

Tony Stark was in his rooms, rifling through his things. Probably trying to get his attention. Meddling in the only way Captain America could. The man bulldozed through every problem, and he'd been complaining a lot about Steve spending too much time in the workshop.

Steve was self-aware enough to know that was part of the reason why he and Tony worked so well in battle together. Steve held him back, and Tony pushed Steve forward.

On the feed, Tony turned and flashed a jaunty smile at the camera, waving. Steve's heart again gave that psychosomatic twinge, but it wasn't just annoyance. Damn if Tony didn't look good in Steve's space. It wasn't the first time he'd had that thought, but before he'd always dismissed it as inappropriate and counter-productive to the team. But that was before. Now...

 _What do I have to lose?_ he thought, his throat growing dry.

Steve saved and shut down his works in progress, put his workshop on level 10 lock-down, and went to confront Captain America.

* * *

 

Now

 

* * *

 

Tony wasn't tired enough to fall asleep along with Steve, but he wasn't exactly inclined to leave. It felt good to have another warm body so close by again -- chased away some of the chill.

He watched the bruises slowly darken on Steve's naked body and wondered what had brought this on at all. What had tipped the scales from teammate to -- what had he heard Darcy call these nowadays? A booty call?

And he wondered if it was selfish of him to want more. Not just a call (was that the right phrasing? He didn't know) but a relationship.

Maybe it was selfish and wrongheaded when a slip could mean really hurting Steve. But he was Captain America, not a saint. And whatever this was tonight, whatever had finally convinced Steve to take a chance on a fish out of water like him... Tony wanted a repeat.

He'd do a lot for Steve. Even exercise self-control.

 

 

 


End file.
